San Francisco

Flying into Los Angeles I can see the neatly boxed houses below with their gleaming turquoise swimming pools. Nearly every second house has one. I smile and am glad I'm going on to San Francisco.

I'd forgotten how painful US Customs is. I queue for an hour and am then asked a barrage of questions. Do you have friends in San Francisco? Are you here on business? Are you sure? Don't you have friends? It's hard not to be sarcastic.

I'm surprised both my bags are still there as it's taken so long to get through. However I don't get far. I'm picked at 'random' apparently for a bag search. The man in blue is a bit of a Nicolas Cage lookalike - balding, a tad awkward and that lost boy look. I have an urge to touch his gun but I can do without an overnight stay in LA so try to behave. He makes me unwrap a ceramic Quetzalcoatl, the Mayan feathered-serpent god from its wrapping, while chirpily asking me questions. I have the urge to be sarcastic again but restrain myself. He can see I'm in no mood for idle chatter so hurries up and sends me on my way.

I rush over to check in for my San Francisco flight. I'm met by a tall, lanky, very camp man who looks like he should be on TV: 'This is self-service check-in people' he booms sarcastically at the queue of people hanging around at the desks, who obviously don't want to use the machines.

I'm afraid to ask him what to do but I'm tired and slightly technophobic (I admit) so take the risk. 'Read the screen' he says unsympathetically. I'm glad I'll be added to the long list of idiots he has to deal with every day.

My flight is delayed. My choice is to go on standby for an earlier flight or pay 25 dollars and be confirmed on the earlier flight. It's a no brainer as far as I'm concerned. I feel like I've been travelling forever and need to get out of here.

Once again security pulls me over and wipes lint over my camera and bag. 'You're all clear' she says. I later find out (when this happens to me again) that they are checking for 'explosive residues'.

My United Airlines flight is full. Sitting next to me is one of Michael Jackson's old security guards or so he tells me. Off the plane I have no problems on the San Francisco side (love this city). A man I recognise on plane offers to help me with my luggage on the train into town but I can't be bothered to faff around (and my mum told me never to talk to strangers) so I take a taxi to my hotel on Kearny and Columbus.

(Photo - Transamerica Pyramid from Kearny and Columbus)